


The Curtain Finally Closes.

by mellohbie



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), mcyt
Genre: Angst, Dadza Minecraft, I am so sorry, It Hurts So Bad, Manberg Revolution, Villain Wilbur Soot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27949241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellohbie/pseuds/mellohbie
Summary: The day of reckoning is here, a day Wilbur had been anticipating for so, so long. Wilbur makes his way to the control room. There, a button that will destroy his home, his friends, and his dreams, but he knew it had to be done. If he can’t have L’Manberg, no one can.Nothing, and no one, could stop him from pressing the button and sealing his fate. Not even his own father.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	The Curtain Finally Closes.

Wilbur’s breath is rapid and uneven. He takes large strides down a thin, stone hallway, his worn out boots clicking on the cold floor. He anxiously rubs his hands together as his pace quickens, the day of reckoning is here. The day he’s waiting patiently for, for so, so long. He reaches the control room, ramblings and lyrics restlessly scrawled on the stone walls. The air is heavy and uncomfortable, but to Wilbur, it’s home. He’s been here dozens of times, staring down a single, wooden button, on an otherwise barren wall. A button that will destroy his home, his friends, and his dreams, but he knew it had to be done. If he can’t have L’Manberg, no one can. 

The strong feeling of regret burned at Wilbur’s eyes. He shut them tight, savouring the feeling. Any feeling. Wilbur perks up--somewhat with alarm, somewhat with delight--as he hears a second pair of footsteps make their way down the tunnel. Tommy, he presumed, which filled him with joy. Finally, he could destroy everything Tommy had ever loved, and get to witness the horror on Tommy’s face as his world--his friends--went out with a bang. The footsteps were different, however. They weren’t the soft squeaks of Tommy’s sneakers--they were hard, aggressive, disapproving clacks. They were familiar, but from where? Wilbur decided to scrap the theatrics, turning to face the figure now standing motionless in the doorway. Wilbur’s eyes lit up for a moment, before returning to their creased, sunken resting place. 

“...Phil?” There, standing in the doorway with arms crossed, was Phil. His father.  
“Mhm?” Phil tightens his arms around his body in discomfort, but his eyes are still soft and forgiving. “What are you doing?” Wilbur notices Phil’s gaze sliding across the writing on the walls. “H-have you heard the s- song? On the walls?” Wilbur's voice threatens to break, but he keeps his composure. To distract himself from his fathers heavy, denouncing gaze, he begins to pace back and forth in front of the button.  
“I made this big point, it was poignant. There WAS a special place. B-but it’s not there anymore. It’s- It’s-” Wilbur stops abruptly when he feels a warm, firm, hand on his shoulder.  
He turns, meeting Phil’s eyes. They’re just as he remembers from when he was a kid. He lost himself completely in the madness, but one detail always stayed in the front of his mind, his father. His eyes are tired and disapproving, but so sweet and forgiving at the same time. Wilbur’s heart sinks for a moment at the thoughts of his childhood. Oh how he missed it; the peace, and the sweet, ignorant bliss. “It is there. Y-you’ve just won it back, Wil.” Phil’s voice wavers for a moment, a shaky, but genuine smile spreads across his face. Wilbur’s face drops and his heart jumpstarts in rage. “I’ve been here SO MANY TIMES PHIL-” Wilbur’s rant is cut off by a loud firework bang and yelling. “They’re fightin- they’re fighting!” Phil’s breath holds steady, he cautiously shakes his head. “And you want to just blow it all up?” Wilbur takes a sharp breath inward, preparing to shout, but he quickly calms himself. “I do, Phil. I do.” 

“Y’know Phil-” Wilbur looks down at the floor, mindlessly kicking a stray rock near his shoe. “There was a saying, Phil, by a traitor, once part of L’Manberg. I don’t know if you’ve heard of him, Eret?” “Yeah?” Phil’s breath hitches as he watches Wilbur’s arm slowly move towards the wall, considering the button. A sickening grin paints Wilbur’s face as he stares into his fathers tired eyes, “It was never meant to be.” And in one last moment of adrenaline, Wilbur’s hand thrusts into the button with a dreadful, nauseating click. Wilbur shuts his eyes, breathes in, and opens his arms. The explosions go off behind him, tearing a hole in the wall of the control room. He feels the wind whipping through his jacket and hair as the debris falls around him, he’s free. He’s finally free. 

After a few moments, the rumbling and screaming stops. Wilbur hesitantly opens his eyes and looks out into the world. Karl swims out into the lake, rapidly trying to retrieve an unconscious Quackity from sinking to the bottom. He screams for help, his voice thickly coated in fear. Tommy, standing in the centre of the ruin, hoarsely crying Tubbo’s name until his voice gives out, frantically looking for his best friend. Niki, standing over an unknown person, covered in blood. She stares mortified at her crimson hands, a concoction of pure fear and disgust painting her soft cheeks. Finally, he meets the gaze of Dream, standing across the devastation. Dream nods in Wilbur’s direction, a satisfied, chaos ridden grin spread across the bottom half of his face, the only part visible under his mask. 

Phil stands next to Wilbur, the smoke-dampened sunlight highlighting familiar eyes--once filled with forgiveness, now filled with sorrow. “Wil… it’s all gone.” His voice is rough, filled with mourning. For the country, for his family, for his son. Wilbur bitterly turns his gaze to Phil, a tear running down his face. “MY L’MANBERG, MY UNFINISHED SYMPHONY, FOREVER UNFINISHED!” he cries out into the distance. “IF I CAN’T HAVE THIS, NO ONE CAN, PHIL.” Wilbur steadies his breathing, the true, anti climatic situation dawning on him. He’s not free, not yet. Wilbur looks out at the wreckage with sunken eyes, he begins to laugh. “All this work, all these theatrics and I still can’t manage to DIE.” he puts his head in his hands, his frustration muffled slightly by his gloves. He turns to Phil with a dying flame in his eyes, pulls out his sword, and carelessly tosses it between him and his father. He falls to his knees, glaring up at his father with newfound determination, his dirty cheeks stained with tears of frustration. “Kill me Phil. Phil, kill me. Stab me with the sword, murder me right now. Look, they all want you to!” Wilbur gestures to the mess outside, the citizens have gathered in the centre of the wreckage, watching. Tommy stands in the middle of the crowd, his face broken. He grips his left arm with incredible force, blood still seeping through his tightly closed fingers. He stares, hopeless, with Tubbo by his side. “Do it Phil, kill me.”  
Phil breaks his soft, fatherly demeanour, shouting at the top of his lungs, “YOU’RE MY SON.” Wilbur flinches for a moment, he’s never heard his father raise his voice before. “Look outside, Phil. How much work went into this? And it’s gone?” Phil turns his head reluctantly meeting the crushed eyes of his youngest son, Tommy. Tommy’s brow furrows as he holds eye contact with his father. He tries to hold back tears, but the effort is futile. Phil looks away, unable to accept that this may have been his fault. He raised these kids, after all. Wilbur looks up at Phil, the flame only further growing in his otherwise empty eyes.

“Do it.” 

Phil takes a shaky deep breath inwards, regret evident on his face. “I’m so sorry, Wil.” He whispers through gritted teeth. Phil plunges the sword deep into Wilbur's abdomen. The cloth of Wilbur’s jacket tearing as the sword pierces through his back echoes through the crater that was once L’manberg. Wilbur takes a deep breath and softly, his eyes flutter shut. Phil catches him in a hug as he weakly collapses to the floor. He grips his son in a tight embrace as blood stains his clothing, quickly pooling in his lap where Wilbur laid, quietly. Wilbur softly cracks open his eyes, just to see his father’s face once more. His eyes were filled with pain, horror, and regret, but still so calming and reassuring. They were home, something Wilbur missed so, very much. Phil blinks away the tears rapidly filling his eyes, and runs an unsteady hand through his son’s soft, curly brown hair. Between uneven sobs, he manages to speak one, final phrase to his beloved son. His Wil. “I love you, Wil.” Wilbur takes one last, long look at his father, before softly shutting his eyes again; he can’t help but smile. The curtain finally closes, the credits finally roll, the hourglass runs dry. This is what he had been dreaming of for so, so long. Peace, emptiness, the sweet release of death.

[WILBURSOOT WAS SLAIN BY PH1LZA]


End file.
